Ballet and Cheese
by TheRealAlyshebaFan
Summary: A one-shot.  For any Shules fans reading, you were warned.      Oh, and a lot of this was inspired by Loafer!  :D


Bored and home sick with a stomach bug. Did some writin'. It's a little easier than arithmetic, that's for sure.

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><p>Juliet could tell her partner was a little annoyed.<p>

Of course, he was almost always annoyed. About something. Or someone. Maybe Shawn had one-upped him again, or Buzz had been late with his coffee, or a perp had left him bruised and battered. Either way, Carlton was irritable at best and snarling with barely-contained rage at worst. Or, at least, he had been temperamental in the past. These days, he was only a little irascible sometimes. Lately, he had somebody to go home to, and from what she could tell, he never got angry at Marlowe.

Today, he was just annoyed that their lunch was late.

The waitress had apparently gone on her break after taking their orders, and now he was drumming his fingers on the table, glaring testily out the window. His phone chirped and he looked at the caller ID, and she saw his expression soften.

Marlowe.

_Dammit_.

Juliet watched him answer, his voice far less growly. He hadn't had anything to eat since probably six that morning and she conceded that anybody could get a little grouchy on an empty stomach and high metabolism. But now, his irritation had faded and he was listening to Marlowe tell him something – Juliet caught a few words, but mainly she watched her partner's face: his blue eyes lightening from intense blue to a calmer cornflower as his girlfriend said something that apparently amused him.

"Did you try the other ones, then? We got what, three different types? If that won't grow, try those others…the big red ones, the whatayacallems…"

The waitress finally appeared with their lunches. Carlton muttered a 'Thanks' and told Marlowe to hold it for a second. "Dutch?"

"Yeah," Juliet nodded. "What big red whatayacallems?"

"Tomatoes. She wants to grow tomatoes on the balcony, in one of those upside-down hangy things."

"Oh."

He turned his attention back to his call. "No, just having lunch. Marlowe says hi," he said, nodding at Juliet, who murmured something that wasn't exactly 'hi' but sounded polite enough. He looked down at his plate of spaghetti and meatballs. "Uh…really…that sounds…um…interesting." He stabbed a meatball and cut it in two. Juliet tucked into her chicken Alfredo.

She forgot to be careful, though. She saw Carlton glance at her hand, and his voice trailed off as he spoke to Marlowe, and his eyes narrowed.

Juliet looked at the ring on her finger.

"Can I call you back?" Carlton said sharply. "Yeah. Okay. I don't have one – I guess I'll have to rent one on short notice. Okay. Love you, too. Bye." He rang off and stared down at the engagement ring on his partner's finger. "So…"

"He asked me last night."

"And you said yes."

"He wanted me to test drive it," she finally said, hackles rising. "I'm thinking about it."

"I see."

"Carlton…"

"So…you're crossing over to total self-abnegation now, huh?" He speared a meatball and popped it into his mouth.

"To what?" she asked, becoming annoyed.

"Self-abnegation. Degrading yourself to the point of being a virtual non-entity, all for the sake of indulging another person's Lake Superior-sized ego."

Juliet huffed angrily. "That's ridiculous, Carlton!"

"Is it? Really?" He began cutting up the spaghetti. "Think he's going to change now, do you?"

"I…he cou-…he has changed!"

"Really? Where is Guster's credit card? On Guster or on Spencer?"

She glared at him.

"He still has the Yo-Gi-Oh! collection, eh?"

"Carlton, that's not fair."

"Oh, so _after_ the wedding he'll suddenly grow up. Pay his _own_ bills with his _own_ credit card. He'll become a responsible, grown-up husband and, hey, if you're really looking for disaster, a responsible father!" He shook his head. "Changing diapers, helping with homework, staying up all night with a screaming baby…the works."

The waitress reappeared. "Everything okay?"

"We're fine," Carlton snapped. "Go away."

The waitress gave him a cold look and stalked off.

"Oh, and I'm sure he'll get a car, too. A station wagon, maybe. Good gas mileage…"

"Stop it, Carlton!" she hissed.

"No, you stop it. You think he's really going to change? Really gonna become an adult? I've been meaning to ask you, by the way…since Mary Kay Latourneaux isn't available…what is it like, dating a thirteen-year old?"

She slammed her fist down on the table, expecting him to flinch. Everyone else in the restaurant did, but she only stared at her partner – who didn't even seem to react. He sat back in his seat, hands folded together, expression a cross between tired and amused.

"You know what I'm doing tonight, after I get off?" he asked her mildly.

"What?" she snapped.

"I'm going to the _opera_."

She couldn't keep her jaw from dropping or her eyes widening from shock. "What?"

"Yeah. The opera. Something by Wagner, I think. The Oberundelingen or something. It's about rings. Lord of the rings…of the dance…whatever. I'll sit in an uncomfortable chair, drinking overpriced hooch, listening to a bunch of big fat brass breast-plated, horned-hat wearing Valkyries screaming at each other in German. Frankly, if I were really into that, I'd go visit my mother's side of the family, but that's not the point. The point is, Marlowe likes the opera. She enjoys it. I don't get it. It surprised me. In fact, at first, it scared the crap out of me. But the point of it is, O'Hara…the point is…I go with her because she wants to do that. She _enjoys_ it. I'd rather go to the track or the shooting range or anything else that doesn't involve large shrieking Germans or overly dramatic Italians – for that, I can just watch _The Sopranos_. But because it's something she likes to do, we do it. And then, because I like going to the track, we go to the track and I win a lot of money, which pays for the next pair of opera tickets. See?"

"I don't…" Juliet interjected.

"Don't get what I'm saying? Seriously, O'Hara…does Spencer ever do anything _you_ like to do? Does he ever put you above himself?"

She fumed, unable to think of anything off hand and hating Carlton for it.

"Come on…aside from that weekend you two took…which Guster paid for, apparently…when has he ever let you pick the evening's festivities?"

She glared at her partner, thinking of how he had said 'God, no!' to her suggestion of a balloon ride, but then had wanted to go wine-tasting…all so he could find the couple that had stolen his prized Nintendo DS. The balloon ride later had only been so he could pursue the guy who had killed the Texan, and certainly not because he had been interested in _romance_. In fact, Shawn's idea of romance was...

Well, Shawn really had no idea of _romance _at all.

Carlton shook his head. "Try an experiment tonight, then. Go see what he wants to do, and then suggest something _you_ would like to do. Whatever it might be. See how he reacts. I think you'll see just how high on his list you really are."

Juliet glared at her partner, but he tucked in his meal and neither of them said another word to each other. He didn't look smug or even terribly upset with her. Instead, he paid for the meal and shrugged away her objection as they left, but she saw that his expression was guarded, and she sensed that he wasn't looking forward to what might happen later.

* * *

><p>The light in the Psych office was on, and Juliet let herself in, catching the scent of sour-cream-and-onion chips and burritos and something…cheesy. She winced and stepped into the office, catching an eyeful of her boyfriend holding what looked like a giant turkey leg in one hand and a burrito in the other. "My God…Shawn," she said. "What are you, Henry the freaking eighth?"<p>

"We got the munchies," he said, grinning. "Gus went to get churros. How's the ring rolling? Taking turns well?"

She twisted it on her finger. "It's okay. Listen…I was wondering…maybe we could go out tonight."

"Sure! I'll call Gus." He pulled out his cell phone and started to hit the '1' on his speed dial, but she waved her hands.

"No, Shawn…us. The two of us. I'm dating you, not Gus."

"Oh…um…okay." He put the phone away. "That's okay. Hey, we'll go to Chuck E. Cheese's! I've got Gus's credit card." He grinned, holding up the piece of plastic.

She moved so fast he was left wide-eyed, and she held the card up, eyes burning holes into his chest. "Not any more, Shawn. In fact, next time I hear about you stealing his card, I will arrest you, understand? I don't want to go to Chuck E. Cheese's, either. I want to go to the ballet. They're doing _Swan Lake_ across town. I want to see it."

"_Swan Lake_? Are you _joking_?"

"No. I'm not."

"But Jules…the _ballet_? I mean, snooze-a-palooza. Chuck E. Cheese has pizza and games and…"

"It's for _children_, Shawn!" she snapped. "Children! I, in case you haven't noticed, am not a child. I don't want to do childish things. Why do _you_ want to do childish things? You're thirty-six!"

He stared at her, bewildered. "We did the adult thing. We went to that resort…"

"On Gus's credit card. And you spent the entire time obsessing over a DS!"

He swallowed, then exhaled slowly. "I was hiding the ring in the DS. I was…you know…it was…it was kind of an emergency ring. In case a moment presented itself…" Off her skeptical glare, he went on. "And now you're wearing it, so I'm pretty sure you'll…"

"You think I'm going to say yes, right?" she said. She looked down at the antique ring. It suddenly felt so heavy on her hand, and yet completely detached from the reality of the situation. "Tell me, Shawn…if we got married, would you wake up the next day as a responsible adult?"

He actually looked confused.

_Confused_.

"Will you pay your own bills, Shawn? With your own money? Will you buy a car? Will you make sure the utility bills are paid before you buy a trampoline? Will you do the laundry or will you just go out and buy new clothes – with Gus's card – instead of washing what you already have? Will you stop making prank phone calls at three in the morning?" She paused, drawing in her breath slowly, hating to ask this question, because she knew the answer, and it hurt. "Will you put me _first_?"

He looked down, chewing on his lip.

"It would be one thing, if you were child_like_ Shawn. That might be kind of sweet, if only for a little while. But child_ish_? Let me be honest, Shawn. Childish isn't attractive. It's sad and silly and exhausting in anybody over age…oh…eighteen. You're having a ball, being all cute and adorable, but the cute little kid has to grow up eventually, and you never did. You won't. If we did get married, you would eat the entire wedding cake, drink all the punch, make prank calls to Carlton, go play ski-ball with Gus, and the next day you'd just do the same thing over again. You aren't going to change, are you? You're first. Only you, and that's never going to change."

The usually cheerful light in Shawn's eyes had faded and for once, he looked his age, which made her feel even more miserable. In fact, she suddenly felt great pity for him – which was hardly the basis for a strong, mature relationship. Juliet studied him more closely than ever before, with sharper eyes, saddened to realize that the wool over them was finally gone, and what she was seeing wasn't pretty.

He looked bloated, for one thing, and from the two pizza boxes and the piles of paper plates and Chinese takeout boxes strewn around the couch, she could see why. She saw the box of Yo-Gi-Oh! cards on the shelf beside the TV. The E-Z Bake Oven in the corner. A pile of Thundercats on top of a box of Ho-Ho's. Hundreds of other toys and video games. A stack of unpaid bills on his desk. _Not a single book_, unless one could count comics as 'literature'.

But why hadn't she ever noticed? Why hadn't she seen it before?

He was a child.

She had been dating a _child_.

"You're trapped, aren't you, Shawn? Stuck at thirteen, and unable to progress any further."

He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. Tears stung her eyes, but she didn't hesitate as she slowly twisted the ring off her finger and gently placed it in his hand.

"I'm sorry, Shawn. I don't regret our time together. Not really. I won't say it was totally wasted. I had fun, but fun can only last long and then there has to be substance. There has to be some kind of glue to keep a couple together. Something real. Powerful. So strong that it can overcome anything at all. But it's not there, Shawn. It just isn't." She kissed his cheek. "I really hope you find somebody who can do…" she gestured around the room. "This. But it's not me. I just can't. Be happy, okay? I really want that for you."

She stepped back, smiled at him, and left.

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><p>It took her a while to figure out where the opera was actually taking place. Santa Barbara had two opera houses, and since one was putting on a production of <em>Don Giovanni<em> while the other was putting on Wagner's _Tristan und Isolde_, she headed there and parked outside the front doors, waiting. She saw a trickle of well-dressed opera patrons coming outside, apparently taking a breather during intermission. She watched carefully until she saw Carlton come out, holding the door open for Marlowe, who said something that made him grin.

Juliet got out and headed over, hands stuffed in her jeans pockets. When Marlowe saw her, she gave her a cautious smile, but she didn't appear threatened. Carlton turned around and spotted her, and he raised his eyebrow.

"I ended it with Shawn," Juliet said.

"Okay."

"Tell me, Carlton….what would you have done if I had married him?"

He paused, thinking carefully. Marlowe touched his arm, murmured something about getting them something to drink, and stepped away.

"I would have demanded a new partner, or a transfer," he finally said, his gaze steady and direct. "I would have hated it, of course."

"Why?" she asked, startled and hurt.

"Because I couldn't work with somebody I couldn't respect…and who had no respect for herself."

Juliet sighed, wanting to argue, but there was no argument to be made.

"I'm proud of you, though. I wasn't looking forward to the day when I couldn't be proud of you any more, O'Hara. I wouldn't have been able to stand it, watching you be turned into a cipher for Spencer's sake." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Remember how much he worshipped Despereaux? Did it never occur to you that he had found a hero in a liar and a thief? I watched all that and just thought, 'My God, she's going to hitch her wagon to the star of a guy who wants to emulate a criminal'. It was disturbing and sad, and when I saw that ring on your finger this morning…"

"He's still a good guy," she said, feeling obligated to defend her ex-boyfriend, at least a little.

"In some ways, yeah, but he's still a pronoid narcissistic, and pronoid narcissists can't share the spotlight, can't put anybody above themselves…they just can't." He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck, looking a little uncomfortable in his clothes. He was wearing a black tuxedo and crisp white shirt, but had undone the silk bowtie and looked incredibly elegant. "I would have hated watching you be…diminished that way. You deserve better. The best. And you'll find it some day."

She shrugged, and Carlton stepped closer. She could smell his cologne. Did Marlowe know how lucky she was?

"Listen to me, O'Hara. You deserve every kind of happiness life has to offer, okay? If I had really believed that Spencer was right for you, and that he really loved you – the way a man ought to love a woman, where he's willing to put her first, above everything else in his life, to the point of telling the truth at all times, even when it won't do him any favors – I wouldn't have objected. I would have walked you down the aisle myself, if you had asked, because I would have been happy for you. But I didn't see that in your thing with Spencer. It wasn't there, and was starting to think you would never realize it."

She crossed her arms and looked at her shoes.

"The Mary Kay Latourneaux dig was a little low, though," she said, sniffing a little but giving him a little smile just the same.

He winced. "Sorry. It was a little…mean."

"But it was true. I was dating a thirteen-year-old." She peered up at him, and glanced Marlowe coming toward them, holding two glasses of champagne. "Anyway…I'll see you tomorrow."

"Right. Good night."

Juliet watched her partner go back into the opera house, seeing from his slightly sagging shoulders that he wasn't exactly thrilled to be there. When Marlowe turned to speak to him, though, she could tell he really didn't mind, and was happy to be there with her. She went back to her little green Bug and got in. She sat for a while, took a deep breath, turned the ignition, and drove home.

_**FIN**_

(really – this was a total one-shot!)


End file.
